Table Manners
by TwistOfLemon
Summary: Jack and Ianto never quite understood the concept of a nice, sit-down dinner at home. Jack/Ianto fluffy oneshot.


"You know," said Ianto, as he opened the door, "It's usually customary for one to cook a date dinner at one's own place of residence."

Jack grinned. He strode into Ianto's flat confidently, as though he'd been there countless times before, instead of twice. The very image of him seemed distorted, as he was carrying two plastic shopping bags. It didn't seem right, as though it was too… ordinary. It made Ianto's head buzz to think of Jack in Tescos. Jack took of his coat, and threw it carelessly onto the bench, where it sat. He then placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter with a clunk, and it was only then that he turned to Ianto, asking with a laugh;

"I'm your _date?_"

"For lack of a better word, yes." said Ianto. He drummed his fingers on the dining table, watching Jack familiarise himself with the rather small kitchenette. "What are you cooking?"

"A surprise." Came Jack's muffled voice, from the bottom cupboard. He stood up, clutching a large pot. "Though I shouldn't be too long. Just… make yourself at home." he joked. Ianto pulled his best face of disdain, though Jack missed it, busy filling the pot with tap water.

"I'll just go read the paper, then," he said, disgruntled. "Perhaps there'll be something we missed."

"Doubt it." called Jack.

Ianto sat himself down on the settee, and began to rifle through the Western Mail that he'd left on the coffee table. That was the last either of them spoke for a good half hour, the bubbling, clanging and rustling of Jack becoming white noise to his news-article-centred thoughts. It was only when Ianto had exhausted the main articles, and was halfway through a letter to the editor that described the author's outrage at the latest series of Big Brother that Jack asked;

"Where's your grater?"

Ianto looked up from the less-than-gripping text to turn to Jack.

"Top left cupboard." he called, and then he realised what he was seeing.

Jack was in full view, with an inquisitive face and wearing a pale pink apron. In different circumstances, Ianto would have been amused at the mere colour of the apron, and perhaps made a dry joke. Although it was very difficult for him to think properly at that moment, as the apron – however entertaining – was the one and only item of clothing that Jack was wearing.

A look of smug satisfaction crept across Jack's face, which made Ianto realise that he'd been staring in silence for a good ten seconds. He was trying to think of a way out of it when Jack said;

"I'm almost done. Give me five minutes."

"Sure," said Ianto. He paused, then added; "I'll just be in the bathroom."

He walked to the bathroom, Jack's snickers following him there. Once inside, he closed the door, locked it and thwacked his back against it in exasperation. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that a towel hook poked out at almost the exact height as his head, and so all this resulted in was a very painful bruise welling up on the back of his head. Hissing curses, he clutched the back of his head, winced, and wished that Jack didn't always have the upper hand.

And then he remembered that Jack _didn't _have the upper hand. He did. And it was going to be all too easy to remind Jack so.

And so Ianto took off all his own clothes quickly, folding them neatly, just beside his toothbrush. He then walked back out into the main room, unashamedly naked, just as Jack called out that the dinner was ready.

The room had a pleasant smell of tomato, minced meat and melting cheese all rolled into one. Spaghetti bolognaise sat in generously ortioned bowls, still steaming. The table was set perfectly, complete with candles.

"Smells good." said Ianto, standing just behind his chair.

"Don't you know it." Jack laughed. He came back from the kitchenette with two glasses of red wine for each of them, and passed Ianto one with no indication that he had noticed Ianto's lack of attire. Ianto accepted it, wondering if he needed to intoxicate himself if he was already eating a perfectly pleasant dinner entirely naked, and sipped it briefly. He then sat down, placing the wine glass to the right of the bowl.

"It's bad manners for a cook to eat in an apron." He remarked casually, lifting his fork.

Jack didn't say a word, but removed the apron and sat down opposite Ianto. They stared into one another's eyes briefly, and then both took a mouthful of spaghetti – Jack's rather larger than Ianto's.

"Delicious." said Ianto. Jack smiled.

"Yeah."

And stubborn silence ensued. Even Jack's eyes gave nothing away, they were simply politely contemplative, as though wondering if Ianto was enjoying the food. Which he was, incidentally. He just hoped he was being as convincing as Jack was. Because he knew that the first to say or do anything that alluded to the fact that they were both completely starkers would lose the game that they'd inadvertently begun. Instead, each looked into the other's eyes. Ianto didn't know about Jack, but he himself felt as if the blue-grey eyes were daring him, taunting him.

And so he broke the eye contact, making it look as though it ere to wipe his mouth after a rather large forkful.

It was then – in a moment of madness, perhaps – that he decided to break the silence, too.

"Delicious as this is…" he began, deliberately leaving the sentence hanging. He twitched his eyebrows as he looked at Jack, who lay down his fork, smiling triumphantly.

"I'm not that hungry anyway." he grinned.

And it was then that Ianto knew that he had won.

"Oh," said Ianto, with a perfect tone of brief surprise, "That's… not what I meant. I'm starving, actually."

Jack's eyebrows rose, and then he glared at Ianto playfully. And then they both laughed.

"I always win." Jack complained, gracious in defeat.

Ianto took his time to twirl his fork in his dish, gathering spaghetti. He then chewed it in before he answered.

"Too bad," said Ianto. "_I_ never lose."


End file.
